Session 0: Prelude

Snow fell in harsh flurries. Four hooves crushed the growing layer of powder upon the road. Ullar was barely able to see ahead of him through the blizzard, but he knew he was close to his destination. The frigid air, scented with pine, stung his nostrils, and his breath was as labored as his horse's. Quill, a small winged quasit, shifted uncomfortably within Ullar's tunic.

"How much will you tell them when we arrive?" the familiar asked his master telepathically.

"As little as possible, but as much as necessary to stop the true threat."

In the distance Ullar finally saw a flame pierce through the blizzard, and shortly thereafter a midway inn and stable broke through the haze of white. Ullar quickly stabled his horse, then rushed inside.

The tavern was cozy, with a lit hearth warming the room. Three tables sprawled across the main room, with a bar along the far wall. To the left of the bar was a staircase leading up to sleeping quarters, and to the right a door to the kitchen. Ullar didn't notice the portly dwarfen woman behind the bar until she barked at him, "Get that door closed traveler! You're letting the hot out!"

Ullar shut the door and moved quickly to stand by the fire. "Thank you for your hospitality. I am a bit confused though - I was meant to meet a contact here, an orc, about yae tall. And yet I do not see him?" Ullar put his hand substantially above his own head.

"Haven't seen anyone like that today. Can Mimi get you a drink perhaps?"

Ullar knelt closer to the hearth, "I'd prefer to stay sober tonight, Mimi." He let a moment of silence pass between them, staring into the flame. "The forces of Pelor march blindly to their doom."

"Why didn't you say so sooner? He's back in the kitchen." Mimi set down the glass she'd been washing and motioned toward the door beside her.

Ullar stood and dusted off the melted snow from his coat, then trudged to the doorway, giving Mimi a weary wave before passing through the threshold.

In the far left corner of the kitchen another set of stairs led upward. A cooking hearth dominated the right wall, with a kettle sitting atop the grate. A small round table occupied the center of the room, with accompanying dwarf-sized chairs. The room contrasted with the figure facing the far wall, making him appear even larger than his already imposing frame. The orc sat at the table, peeling an apple with a dagger. Behind him, the far wall matched the cobblestone floor. And two shirtless men knelt limply, blindfolded and bloodied, chained to the wall.

"You're late." the gruff Orc said.

Ullar quelled the stammer that yearned to betray him. "My apologies, Azhug. I assure you, the information I've gathered will be well worth the wait."

"We'll see." Azhug flourished his dagger. "If not, I'll still find a... good use for you."
Ullar unbuttoned his tunic as he went to sit, releasing his invisible familiar to scout the room. He settled into his chair and sent a telepathic message to Quill. "Try to learn what you can about what they're planning." Then to Azhug he said, "I've had a long journey, and I'd like to stop my stomach's protests before we begin."

Azhug considered this for a moment as he picked at the apple, then flicked a slice across the table to Ullar. "Have that. If I'm satisfied with your recon you can eat your fill."

Ullar shifted in his seat. "Very well then. I've just come to learn that the Cramoran forces are gathering in an attempt to hold Baton Crest. They're forsaking the eastern cities to make a more united stand."

Azhug grunted. "A surprising choice. They should not have the numbers to mount such a defense. Is your country's military really so foolish?"

"I do not pretend to be versed enough on warfare to comment on such things. Cramora is hardly my country anymore."

"Hah! You tell yourself whatever you need to, little human. Cramorans are quite loyal creatures. To their golden god and to each other. Just because you are coward enough to betray them does not mean you do not belong to their rank. Perhaps they indeed are fools." 

The kettle over the flame began to whistle.

A grimace flashed over Ullar's face, gone just as quickly as it appeared. "Be that as it may, I understand that you do not belong to Gabrizan. I'm sure our - Cramora's - enemy pays you quite handsomely for this intel. Is gold all that you are after?"

"I seek only to win the approval of my mistress. Our ambitions are vast and require funding." A serious look crossed Azhug's face as he tossed the apple seeds to the fire. "What am I saying? This is not some two-way conversation. It is I who asks the questions! What else do you know?" As if to punctuate Azhug's realization, he stabbed his dagger into the wooden table.

Quill's voice sneaked back into Ullar's mind. "There's one other person upstairs. A lady in a scary cloak. I think she's asleep. There's a book by her bedside. It's open to a note." Ullar prompted his familiar to recite it.

To begin thy will is tested

After seven days unrested.
Next thy body starts to wither
blood spilt merges bonds and slithers.
broken souls make worthy hosts
Zuri return from ghostly posts.

Blood that bonds, that is the key

This will set the Zuri free.

Ullar realized that Azhug was looking at him expectantly. "Well Azhug, I do know that they conscripted the entirety of the Cold Iron Mercenary troupe to join them in Baton Crest. I believe that more than doubles their defensive number."

"Ah," said the orc with a grin, "you were holding out on me. Sneaky sneaky, but I'm honestly a little disappointed you told me without things having to get... unpleasant."

"How many times do I have to tell you you can trust me? Can I eat now? I'm famished."

"There's some stew in the cauldron by the... prisoners. I have some tasks to attend to before Mistress awakens."

"How long've you kept them like this?" Ullar said as innocently as he could.


"We're on day six now. They'll break soon enough." Azhug stood and lumbered up the stairs, leaving Ullar alone in the kitchen for a moment. Ullar closed his eyes in relief. He had avoided mentioning the most treasonous information he'd learned, and now had an opportunity to accomplish his true mission. He had to disrupt whatever foul ritual was taking place here. He grabbed the dagger protruding from the table, and swung out of his seat toward the back wall. The two men looked old and haggard, and when Ullar ripped their blindfolds off their eyes were glazed over. They began muttering incoherently, but when Ullar put his ear to the lips of the first man he could make out two words: "Kill me."

Ullar stood and said a quick prayer, then plunged the dagger deep into the prisoner's neck. Blood spilled down the broken man's chest, deep and thick. As the life faded from his eyes there was a sudden commotion from upstairs, and Azhug raced back into the kitchen carrying two large limestone spheres, one under each shoulder.

He shouted in a rage at Ullar and threw one of the spheres at the double agent, but Ullar was already on the move, racing toward the fire in the hearth. He felt Quill's invisible feet settle upon his shoulder as he stepped quickly into the flame, already reciting the spell that would whisk him away to safety.

But as Ullar finished his spell he was instead surrounded by wisps of green. He turned back, confused until he saw the same green wisps tethering him to Azhug. It finally cemented the fact in Ullar's mind: His magic would not work properly here, and there was no escape to be had. Ullar's mind whispered to Quill, "This is the end, my faithful companion. Go now, and warn others of the evil we quashed here tonight." As the flames licked at his boots, Ullar felt a few wet drops fall upon his shoulder, then his invisible companion departed on its final mission.

Ullar grabbed the red-hot poker from within the embers, ignoring the pain that seared through his fingers. "I've stopped you," he growled, "the horrors you seek to unleash will never walk free." The world around Ullar quieted. He would go out on his terms. Those were fitting final words. He hadn't stammered once. And with a resigned smile on his face as the flames enveloped him, Ullar plunged the metal rod through his heart.

***

Azhug grimaced at the smell of the burning body. The other prisoner began laughing quietly to himself. He bent down to collect the sphere he had used as a weapon against his own informant and inspected it, hoping his brash actions hadn't caused any damage to the orb. The laughter did not abate, but instead grew louder and heartier. It was enough to prevent him hearing his Mistress gracefully descend the stairs, so he was surprised when her talon-like fingers grasped his shoulder. The orc remained on one knee as he addressed her, speaking loudly over the deranged cackle that echoed through the room. "My Mistress, I beg your mercy. He told us enough to settle things with Gabrizan. We can start again, and do it all the right way this time."

A single clawed finger lashed out across the neck of the laughing man, silencing him. Azhug risked gazing up at the shadowy visage above him, and saw an ominous, evil smirk.